here’s some hopper and eleven fluff, because holy shit are they one of the most adorable relationships on the show. their chemistry together is so great, their brokeneness fits together so well and they just. need eachother. its really beautiful. :,)
@midwestern-trashmonger HERE YOU GO MY FRIEND :))) (i love ur blog so much omg)
summary: Eleven’s falling in and out of sleep on the couch, literally, much to Hopper’s amusement. (In advance, he carries her to bed even though she has powers because she’s tires as fuck, okay?? He’s an extra dad too don’t even try me on that) THIS IS LITERALLY JUST FLUFF.
Hopper was sipping at a beer, staring out the open window, the moon shining on piles of leaves in front of the cabin, finished reports scattered on the table. The TV murmured, and he gazed to where Eleven sat on the couch. A smile rose on his lips.
She sat cross-legged in front of the TV, her favorite quilt draped upon her knees. He knew it was her favorite soap, as she always scuttered to the living room at exactly “eight-three-zero.” She never missed it. However, this evening, it seemed like she was.
Earlier, all of her friends had come to the cabin, and they had convinced Hopper to let them play outside, the day rather golden despite it being the middle of fall. Stay close to the cabin, Hopper had warned, fighting a grin at her excitement. Don’t go far, okay?
Yes, Eleven took his hands and nodded enthusiastically, a giant grin on her face. We’ll be right here.
El had probably used every ounce of energy in her jumping into piles of leaves and chasing Mike. God, that Wheeler kid had her strung on a string.
So, tired out of her mind, El sat slouched on the couch, the TV casting rainbow glows on her face.
She kept drifting in and out of sleep, her eyes slipping closed as she tilted, falling onto her side. She pulled herself up again, her eyes shooting open, until they would start to become hooded and it would repeat.
Hopper laughed as he watched her. It was endearing, her curls messily falling against the couch and her little hands clutching at her quilt. He was starting to wonder if the domesticity of the home naturally suppressed her powers, because she probably forgot that she could hoist herself up with her mind. Maybe she was too exhausted.
He laughed again, getting up from the table and walking over to the couch. “El,” he called, tossing his beer can into the bin.
Her eyes opened and she sat up. “Hmm?” she asked sleepily, her eyes squinting at the TV.
Hopper walked to the TV and leaned over to turn the soap off. “Noo,” she whispered as the screen went black.
“You’re tired, baby,” he murmured, leaving over to pick up her quilt, the ends draping onto the floor. He folded it messily. He eyed Eleven’s slow blinks. “Hm? You’re falling asleep.”
She frowned for a second, but turned to Hopper and reached out her arms, really not bothered that he turned the TV off at all.
“C’mon,” he whispered, lifting her onto his chest. She settled her head on his shoulder, her nose nudging his neck. She breathed in. He smelled like coffee and smoke and something that she could identify as home. Even in her drowsy half asleep consciousness, she felt like the safest girl alive.
Hopper walked into Eleven’s room, his paces slow and rhythmic. He was so warm, she felt as if she could melt into his arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder, her eyes fluttering at the feeling. Her hand ran sleepily up and down his back, following on the crease of his shirt.
He got to her bed, leaning down to throw the bundle of soft covers back and bending to place Eleven down gently on the sheets. She sighed, curling into them, and Hopper brought up the blankets carefully, tucking them up to her chin. She sighed and pressed her cheek to the pillow. Little brown curls scattered across it.
Hopper brought up the chair that was always next to her bed and sat. She looked up to him with sleepy eyes. He smiled, reaching up to push her head of curls back. He did it over and over, his rough hands gently running against her scalp making her Eleven’s eyes droop.
“Nice day?” he muttered, smiling softly.
Eleven hummed, nudging her head against his hand.
“That Wheeler kid wore you out, didn’t he?”
She smiled. “So much fun,” she said.
“I bet,” Hopper watched as she brought her hand up to rub her eyes. “Want me ‘t read?” he asked, grabbing the brand new book from her bedside table. He already knew her response.
“Yeah,” she whispered, tilting her head up to him.
Hop opened the book, his hand going back to her head, returning to the soothing push of her curls. El’s eyes slipped closed. He knew her like the back of his hand.
When Hopper’s eyes shifted to the book, Eleven gazed up to him. She gazed sleepily at the rough stubble on his jaw that glinted in the low light, his hooded blue eyes shifting across the cover. She fought back a smile that she didn’t know the meaning of.
It was the last thing Eleven heard before she slowly slipped into the hum of Hopper’s voice reading softly, a jumble of words flowing through her ears.
Everything went black, and in a snap, she was awake again and the chair was creaking. She felt Hopper’s hands press down on either side of her, and he kissed her forehead gently. Her eyes were heavy. She didn’t bother to open them.
His words swam in her ears, and the light went out, and she fell back into the black velvet.
